


A Subtle Kiss

by Debate



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe, F/M, Mind Reading, POV Multiple, Pre-Season/Series 01, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:44:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11950365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Debate/pseuds/Debate
Summary: “You and Simmons are so tight, it’s like you’re psychically linked."Well, that's probably because they are. Years of nonverbal communication, shared science, and attempting to explain their telepathic link has forged a strong friendship between Fitz and Simmons, one that will no doubt enrich their lives to come.





	A Subtle Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Read My Mind" by The Killers

Among her many responsibilities, catering to the demands and queries of the Sci-Tech cadets was quite certainly Anne Weaver’s least favorite. Over the years she had counseled enough petty disagreements, plagiarism accusations, and romantic falling-outs to drive a lesser woman mad, especially when SHIELD cadets were all adults and should have been well within their abilities to sort out their issues without administrative interference.

That being said, the two cadets before her couldn’t really be called adults by any stretch of the imagination, regardless of their intelligence. Cadets Fitz and Simmons were the youngest that the Sci-Tech academy had ever seen and it had taken quite a lot of argument with the board to convince them to take on not one, but two new cadets on the eve of their seventeenth birthdays. They had argued that while the intelligence of the both of them was clear, and would certainly benefit SHIELD, the overwhelming majority felt that perhaps ones so young would not be prepared for the psychological toll that being a SHIELD agent often took. In order to convince them Weaver had emphasized the enormous contribution that they would each bring to SHIELD and highlighted their maturity in a well formed argument that had eventually swung in her favor. She had privately thought that, despite not having met, the pair would make a good team. They were both British, both far outpacing the intelligence and curiosity of their peers, and they were almost identical in age; it seemed likely that together they’d accomplish more than on their own.

So it was with a great amount of trepidation that she agreed to Simmons’ proposed meeting with herself and cadet Fitz. The email the girl had sent her indicated that Simmons felt there existed an issue of dire importance that needed to be addressed, and for the first time Weaver doubted her insistence on enrolling the young prodigies.

Having the two future agents in her office for an afternoon meeting only made to underscore her doubts. The pair of teenagers, while only a handful of years younger than their classmates, were rather outwardly different in a multitude of ways that painted them in stark contrast to the average Sci-Tech cadet.

Simmons had obviously attempted to do her makeup in an attempt to look older, but it rather had the opposite effect. The palettes she had chosen did nothing to compliment her skin tone and her eyeliner had clearly been applied by uncertain hands, all emphasizing her inexperience with cosmetics. At least she was able to dress in a professional manner, sitting beside her Fitz looked as if was still unaccustomed to dressing himself, certainly unfamiliar with the garish clash of patterns he presented with a striped shirt and polka-dotted tie.

Their youth presented any number of difficulties, especially in the competitive and demanding academic setting of the Academy. Peer approval for one, being younger immediately set Fitz and Simmons at a social disadvantage as other students might ostracize them, either because of jealousy or suspicion. The rather harsh hazing of first year pranks was probably another roadblock, and there was little Weaver could really do about it, as they never stopped despite the stern lecture promising administrative action at the beginning of each term.

Really, the meeting they had been granted could have been requested for any number of reasons. She was slightly placated after a quiet moment of observation when she saw no outward animosity between them. Dr. Burrows had reported that they got along swimmingly in his chem lab, but other professors had said they seemed very tense around each other when she made discreet inquiries at the end of the first semester. Whatever the issue, she felt mostly confident that it wasn’t between the two young cadets, but probably an outside issue that they were both experiencing. 

“So, cadets,” she said once they both seemed settled in the seats across from her desk, “What are the ‘dire issues’ that need to be brought to my attention?” 

They glanced at each other, and after reaching some unspoken conclusion, turned back to face her, faces equal parts apprehension and hope. Then speaking together, as if with one voice, they said, 

“We’re telepathic.” 

Well. 

She hadn’t been expecting that. 

After counting down from ten to ensure that she didn’t act too quickly or rashly she said,

“You both know this is a serious claim.” 

She wouldn’t insult their intelligence by disbelieving them out of hand, but as was the case with any encounters with gifteds, a seed of doubt must be in place while making assessments. 

They nodded and let her continue. 

“Before we discuss this any farther I have a simple question,” she stopped briefly in a moment of dramatic flare that she rather wished SHIELD hadn’t instilled in her, and then said, “What did I have for lunch?” 

Fitz and Simmons looked at each other than at her in mild confusion.

“Oh, I think you misunderstood Agent Weaver,” Simmons said, “We’re only telepathic with each other.” 

“Haven’t got a clue what you’re thinking,” Fitz continued, “Although if I had to wager a guess, probably tuna salad, you can still kinda smell it and I’m famished.” 

Weaver acknowledged to herself that the question may have been too simple, and resolved to be more astute in the future before remembering that this was an extraordinary and singular occurrence. The new information that they presented, however, only served to complicate the matter.  

“I will presume that this is not a ruse as I view you both as competent individuals who would not waste my time with false claims,” she paused, giving them an opportunity to leave if it were, in fact, an elaborate prank.  Both of them continued to look on at her with complete seriousness. “I must follow protocol, and a SHIELD team will come in to file an Index Asset and Evaluation and Intake report and you will both need to speak to a psychologist.” 

They both nodded along, as if they suspected exactly this and had already resigned themselves to it.

“That being said you must both recognize that this is highly unusual, and as cadets and future agents, I want to grant you some autonomy. That’s why I think that you should talk about this with me first.”

The two of them looked at each other, if they were telepathic they seemed to be taking advantage of it, and looked at her once again.

“Alright,” Simmons said. She seemed tentative, although Weaver was glad they seemed to trust her. “Where do you want us to begin?” 

“How about at the start?”

 

* * *

 

 

For a genius it took Leo Fitz an embarrassingly long time to realize he didn’t think like other people. And that wasn’t in reference to the fact that he could multiply triple digit sums in his head before most kids knew that two and two made four, or that he not only knew to avoid sticking loose lego pieces into his mouth, but could use them to make full scale model replicas of famous landmarks (without the directions of course, that took all the fun out of it). No, a genius level intellect was not what made his mind truly odd, that would be the other thoughts, the ones that weren’t his, that mingled and danced in his consciousness, but had a distinctly different flavour than his own. 

The other thoughts were always there, had always been there, and were as familiar as his baby blanket or his own heartbeat. He found the phenomenon most difficult to explain, even to himself, the closest he could relate it was to describe it as reading a first person narrative, except the book was never ending and he was always reading it. 

It was sort of like his brain had made enough room for someone else to move in and set up shop so that they could work collaboratively, sharing ideas more easily than breathing.  

As comfortable and inherit to his own person as the other thoughts were they were also distinctly different. They way they felt in his head was dissimilar, in the same way the world was several shades darker when he wore sunglasses and stood in stark contrast to the clear correctness of his surroundings without them. There were other ways to distinguish the other thoughts from his own, they told him about a different mum and dad, and an older brother, and when he was five, a baby sister. They read different books and watched different shows on the telly and had different teachers even if they all seemed to be so extremely dull, although he suspected it was just a common characteristic of teachers, and the other thoughts seemed to agree. 

He only became aware of the uniqueness of the situation when, at the age of seven, he attempted to explain an inner turmoil to his mother. The other thoughts liked strawberry ice cream even though Fitz hated it, seeing it as an injustice to the sweet juiciness of the fruit. They took offense to his conclusion claiming that the creaminess of the ice cream enhanced the strawberry flavour and made it unique and different from strawberries themselves; they argued that comparing strawberry ice cream with strawberries was the same as comparing apples and oranges, one should only compare ice creams with other ice creams, and according to the other thoughts, strawberry was far superior to any other contenders. This notion was of course ridiculous, how was comparing strawberries with strawberry flavoured items like comparing apples and oranges? 

He expected him mother to agree with him, they agreed about most everything, his mum said it was because they thought on the same wavelength which invariably led him to explain that thoughts weren’t on the EMR spectrum, but existed because of the electrical firings through the nerves in the brain. His explanation would lead her to explain turns of phrase and that people didn’t mean everything they said literally, and then they would both laugh, it was almost like an inside joke.

But his mother didn’t make the expected remark, instead she looked on at him with rising concern. 

“Is that your imaginary friend?” she asked, a bit tentative, a bit sad. 

“No, that’s what Jemma thinks,” he answered easily, “She lives in Sheffield and has a sheepdog.” 

His mother smiled again, with the same sadness present from when she asked the question. Never wanting to see his mum so close to tears he resolved to never bring up the other thoughts again, it would stay his secret. He hugged her tightly and she stroked his hair with a warm and soothing hand. 

“I’m sorry, Mum,” he said. 

“Nothing to apologize for, sweetie,” she answered, “why don’t we go down to the park so you can play, maybe you’ll make some friends.” 

He nodded into her stomach even if he didn’t really want to go to the park, even as the other thoughts protested that he was so lucky to have such a large park so close to his home, he would do it to see his mother smile, and if he could prove to the other thoughts that having three slides to choose from didn’t make them any more fun, well more’s the better. 

 

…

 

It was only after her first month at Uni was completed that the all-encompassing loneliness that had been pressing on her shoulders since she had left home finally became almost too much to bear. It left her crying in her room and resulted in her missing mandatory first year seminar, destroying the perfect attendance she had boasted all her life. 

When she had insisted to her parents that she was old enough and independent enough to live on campus she hadn’t realized that eighteen year olds had no interest in being friends, or even interacting with, twelve year olds that showed them up in all their classes. 

Initially, she had been grateful when she had gotten to live in a single due to her age, she had always valued her privacy. But she hadn’t anticipated that she would so desperately want a roommate to provide an automatic and built in friendship. What she wouldn’t give to have a shoulder to cry on. 

She curled deeper into her sheets, clutching an old stuffed elephant that she had shoved into the bottom of her suitcase before she left, feeling childish, but also grateful, for lack of anything better. 

_ Hey  _ Fitz thought  _ at least you have me.  _

The gasp that escaped her at his sudden and direct address stuttered her breathing and left her gasping for air, the response to the combination of the shock and the sobs. 

She was confused for a moment; she and Fitz never communicated so frankly. If anything, they merely occupied the same space. Sure, she knew more about him than any person she had actually met, but that was simply a side-effect of their condition. Besides the time that they had agreed not to tell anyone else about that condition when they were eight they had never spoken. Well, not spoken in the colloquial sense, rather that they had never purposefully thought specific words in the proper grammar that the other was intended to receive, understand, and respond to. 

In everyday occurrences their thoughts simply brushed by one another without expectation, sometimes she was forced to think things in response to his own thoughts because of how distracting they were. Other times, especially when she was studying, she was able to completely ignore what was going on in Fitz’s head because she was so enraptured by whatever she was learning.

_ Sorry,  _ Fitz thought,  _ I’ll stop if you want me to, it’s just that it seemed like you really wanted a friend. _

_ No  _ she thought, purposefully in return,  _ Thank you, it’s nice to have something familiar.  _

A moment ago all she had wanted was to call home, to hear her parents’ consolations and Macey’s innocent and upbeat inquiries, but calling home would admit defeat, and she hadn’t worked so hard to give it all up and crawl home before she had even truly begun. Sharing thoughts with Fitz was a relief, he certainly wasn’t accusatory, and he was as familiar to her as anyone from home would be, even if it wasn’t in the same openly-acknowledged way. He could also relate to her situation intimately, after all, he was the same age and was also enrolled in university, even if he was still living at home while attending the University of Glasgow. 

She began to calm slightly as he thought about the sunny day he was having, unusual for the beginning of October, and refreshing after the three straight cloudy days she was suffering through. Then he went on to solve a maths problem, the kind that made you grown in frustration at first glance, but that ultimately simplified to a satisfying positive integer. 

Her tears dried up, but her chest still hiccoughed from her sobs. Now, that it was over, all the crying did was make her feel messy and gross and completely over spent. She wiped her eyes but they were puffy and irritated from the crying and only stung worse when her hands scrubbed at them, so she rubbed off the tears tracks that lined her cheeks with her shirt sleeve instead. 

She crawled out of bed and stripped her sheets, clean sheets had a way of making everything feel fresh and new, but she couldn’t quite find the energy to go downstairs and do laundry so she was left with a a pile of blankets and pillows on her floor.

Collapsing into her desk chair she grabbed a glass of water that had been left half full after she finished her assigned reading. She finished the water in five deep gulps; it had that odd sticky staleness that water tended to get after having been left sitting out for too long, but it felt refreshing anyways. 

_ You should take a nap  _ Fitz thought. She glanced at her naked mattress in response. 

_ You have the giant pile of blankets and pillows! I bet its comfy.  _

She hesitated a moment before collapsing into the pile, unable to keep from remembering the last time she had done something similar, when Macey’s friends had come over for a sleepover and she had helped them construct the most structurally sound and elaborate blanket fort of all time. 

An hour ago the memory would probably have sent her into another fit of crying, but now it served to calm her mind. 

She fell asleep quickly, while Fitz wondered how she didn’t constantly overheat while sleeping with four blankets. 

 

…

 

The first day at the SHIELD Academy for first year students was spent in classwide lectures. The itinerary included an introduction, where they were all addressed by Agent Weaver, then a thorough reading of the SHIELD cadet code of conduct. After that they are made to sit through an ethics seminar, and then an explanation of how SHIELD handled intellectual property. 

Fitz zoned out during Weaver’s introduction, the spiel she gave was nearly identical to the one she had given him personally when he was recruited. It was during his daydreaming that he recognized the other thoughts. Which were almost completely matching his own.

His head spun to the left and locked eyes with Jemma Simmons, turning around in her seat to look back at him. 

He knew, intellectually, that Jemma had been recruited to SHIELD, the same as him. And why wouldn’t she be? She was even more of a genius than him, if you wanted to measure by number of PhDs (and Jemma did). But knowing that she would be there, that in all likelihood they would meet, wasn’t the same as seeing her face, her eyes wide with curiosity. 

It was odd, looking at her. He hadn’t really known what Jemma looked like until that moment. She wasn’t vain, had never obsessed overmuch about her physical appearance, and he therefore had never quite gotten a clear image in his head of her physical form. Although he knew from sitting on the sidelines to her grousing that her nose wasn’t nearly as protrusive as she thought it was. 

Her hand flew to her nose, holding it as one would before ducking underwater, and he exhaled for what felt like the first time in his life. A feeling like boiling water rushed through his veins, in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. 

The rest of Weaver’s speech flew right over Fitz’s head. His attention remained focused on Jemma as they both rushed through and tried to make sense of about a dozen different emotions. 

During the break between Weaver’s introduction and the start of the code of conduct review Jemma shot to her feet and all but pushed the man sitting to his left out of his seat. With some grumbling he left and Jemma fell into his seat, her bag plopping at their feet. 

“Hi,” she said, smile of unrestrained glee on her face, “I’m Jemma Simmons.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I, uh, I know. I’m Fitz.” 

“I know,” she parroted back. “My, this is odd.” 

“Yeah,” he said with a nervous laugh. Maybe he had never quite admitted it to himself, but he had always held something of a fear that Jemma, and her thoughts, didn’t exist outside of his head, that she was a product of his over imagination or some psychological disorder.

“I thought the same thing,” she said shyly. And it certainly was odd, that she responded verbally to something that had existed solely in his head, or, he supposed, in hers too. 

And then she thought and said the same thing at the same time.

“I want to understand it.”

The mixture of the mental and auditory stimulation was dizzying. Her words were vague, but he knew what she meant. Jemma had a scientific curiosity perhaps even larger than his own, and this mystery, so personal to both of them, was something she was determined to solve.

Well, it was good thing they were at the leading facility for scientific research and growth in the country.

 

* * *

 

“We realized after our first day in the SHIELD Protocols class that we’d be required to report our, uh, connection,” Simmons said after she and Fitz had finished passing the baton while trying to explain their telepathic link and early childhoods. “But I hope you can understand why we needed to do some investigating of our own first, now that we’re both physically in the same place. We wanted to be able to talk about it in a scientific manner, and gather some data from a handful of simple experiments, just so we would know we aren’t suffering from some  _ folie à deux. _ ” 

Then almost timidly, she slid a manilla folder over Weaver’s desk. It was thick, but well organized, with no loose pieces of paper sticking out from the sides. The folder was unmarked, except for a small green circle drawn in the top right corner in what looked to be washable marker. 

Simmons had been holding the folder in her lap for the duration of the meeting, and Weaver had assumed it was for one of the classes that she was heading to after the meeting, but it seemed to be for quite a different purpose

She opened the folder carefully to find the data they had collected in the past few months. It was extensive and rather impressive. 

“We, uh, came to a bit of a roadblock,” Fitz said while she read through the table of contents. “Neither of us are psychologists or neurologists and we don’t exactly know all the practices and and methods in those fields. I mean, we know that introspection hasn’t been used as a technique in psychology for  _ decades _ , but lacked options when it was just the two of us without any of the necessary equipment since it’s so different from anything we use in either of our disciplines, so we decided to-” 

“Bring it to my attention,” Weaver finished for him, afraid he would ramble nervously on forever. She believed the two were selling themselves short on what they had already accomplished, she’d need to read over their data and conclusions a bit more, but from what she had already seen they’de achieved a tremendous amount together. “You want to continue this scientific investigation as part of SHIELD’s indexing process?”

They both nodded in agreement. 

“Well, I can’t argue with that. I would, however like to keep this information private from your classmates. We’ll need to organize it carefully so as to not arouse suspicion and to accommodate your schedules so as to not distract from your work. Is that agreeable?”

They both nodded again, looking a little gobsmacked.

“So, you’re not angry?” Fitz asked tentatively. 

Weaver raised her eyebrows, “Of course not, I’m very glad you are both responsible and trusted me enough to come to me with this. Why would you think I’d be angry?”

“We didn’t follow SHIELD protocol,” Simmons said, shifting in her seat talking as if she thought she’d be reprimanded at any moment. “And we conducted unsanctioned research with SHIELD resources, and we’ve been withholding the truth.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous cadets,” Weaver said, amused by their innocence and dedication, “I can tell you’ve both been nothing but honest with me. This is an unusual situation, and I acknowledge that you both behaved in what you thought was the best way given the circumstances. When you become agents you will learn that sometimes SHIELD doesn’t have a protocol for a situation that you’re facing, and you’ll be forced to make hard decisions, this is just the beginning, no doubt.” 

They both listened with rapt attention, although they also still seemed a bit on edge, as if expecting the other shoe to drop at any moment. 

“Truly, cadets, you needn’t worry. I have every confidence that this won’t affect your ability to become full agents.” A few months ago she would have hesitated to make that statement, but after Fury had begun talk with some of the upper agents about incorporating gifteds and their talents into the agency she was more confidant in saying that they would be welcomed, even if their gift wouldn’t likely be something Fury would want in his initiative. “I’d like to thank you again for coming to me with this. I’ll be sure to contact the both of you when the team arrives to go through indexing. Unless there’s anything else you’d like to tell me, you’re free to go.” 

The two shared a glance before thanking her again and rising to leave, the pair of them much more at ease than they had been when they arrived. 

After she was sure that they were out of the building, Weaver asked her secretary to reschedule her next meeting. Fitz and Simmons had left her with a lot to digest, and even though she had remained calm while they told their story, the sudden and unexpected news had set her slightly on edge, she would need more time than she had allotted to regroup. 

She began to make a list of the best agents to do Fitz and Simmons’ intake, contacted an old friend from the time she spent in the Sandbox, who happened to be one of the leading neurologists in the world, and contacted Agent Phillips to reserve a time slot to use SciTech’s MRI and EEG. She marked things in her calendar, there was a lot to be done.

A week later she sat in for a video conference about Fitz and Simmons’ case. When she had requested a team to go through the process for her two cadets, she had been denied. At first she thought that the agents at HQ had not taken her report seriously, but on the same day she received the email alerting her to the planned video call. She had been slightly annoyed about not getting even a temporary explanation, but she resigned herself to having to wait. She wasn’t pleased about what she heard. 

“I’m sorry, Agent Coulson, but I don’t understand the reason for this break in protocol! If anything this case should be open and shut! There aren’t any extenuating circumstances, and in terms of the abilities we’ve come across these are hardly dangerous!” She insisted.

Coulson nodded, “Yes, Agent Weaver, I understand where you’re coming from,” he paused and there was a certain tilt of his head and quirk of his eyebrow that indicated his next statement was to be one of great importance. “But we aren’t giving those kids an Index file.” 

She nodded with a bit of resignation, immediately understanding his deeper meaning. They weren’t being given an Index file, but that didn’t mean another file wasn’t going on record. She had been with the organization long enough to know that SHIELD was an institution built on secrets. Whatever they wanted with Fitz and Simmons it was above her clearance level, but her obvious care for them had forced Coulson to reveal his play, or as much as he could while still following protocol.  

Coulson gave a slight tilt of the head as if to say that he knew that she knew and continued speaking, “We’re not giving either of them an Index file, but I still think it would be smart to have you keep an eye on them as their supervisor. And if they want to research this, I think that’s well within their rights, so long as they keep this quiet. It might even be beneficial.” 

“I’ve already told them they’d have to go through Indexing, I must say they’ll be suspicious when no one shows up.”

Coulson waved a hand. “Make something up, tell them they were exempt because they’re to be agents, or that you handled it all remotely, or that they weren’t viewed as a threat so all the intake team needed was their files. I don’t think you should have a problem coming up with something.” 

Weaver nodded along, she was well accustomed to lying to the cadets, but something about what he said struck a cord. “And do you think there’s any risk of that? Of them being labeled as a threat?”

Coulson laughed, which was reassuring. Weaver saw a bright future for Fitz and Simmons and she didn’t want to see that future dim because of the restrictions SHIELD might put on them if they were viewed as a potential harm to others.

“I’d put them at a solid 0.25. Unless the pair of them go the way of mad scientists, their power only has the potential to harm the other. And both their psych evals are squeaky clean, so I don’t have any worries about that, and neither should you.” 

Weaver checked her watch and was glad they were wrapping this up so quickly. “Well Agent Coulson, I can’t say I’m pleased with this sequence of events, but thank you for your time.” 

“It’s the least I could do Agent Weaver,” he said sincerely, “I’ll need you to forward all the research Fitzsimmons have done so far and will do in the future, to have on record.” 

Weaver agreed readily and ended the call. While she turned off the video communication program on her computer and began to review notes for her next meeting with the virology professors she caught herself smiling.

Fitzsimmons. 

That was quite clever. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've been sitting on for a while and I really hope that the writing was able to explain how the telepathy works since its sorta nontraditional, but would be how I think telepathy works if it were a real thing lol, if anything about it is confusing please let me know! 
> 
> [Edit 4//7/18] - I've decided I won't be writing a second chapter to this fic as I've lost interest in writing it and believe this stands up well enough on it's own, sorry if you were interested in reading another chapter.


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